


we wanna live young (love, we better start today)

by bellarkeing



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel
Genre: Campfires, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, FitzSimmons Seychelles Holiday, Fluff, Marshmallows, Sleepy Cuddles, Vacation, drunk!Simmons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:47:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7310056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellarkeing/pseuds/bellarkeing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Simmons? Are you okay?” He raised his eyebrows. “Should I be trusting you with a pointy stick over an open flame?”</p>
<p>“Shhh, Fitzy, I’m fine.” Jemma flapped a hand at him, then she swayed in the sand a little and almost tipped back over, but finally managed to right herself and grinned up at him toothily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we wanna live young (love, we better start today)

**Author's Note:**

> title is from not today by imagine dragons
> 
> based off the prompt "Holy shit! I finally found something i’m better in than you!" + "Vacation". I changed the wording of the first part to make it more accurate to the character, but the point is there.

_ ‘Fitz’s eyes really were quite blue’ _ , Jemma heard from somewheres. Oh, wait. She’d just said that out loud.

She could admit, that she may have had a few too many sips of whatever bright strawberry-ish drink Fitz had ordered for her when they were out to dinner at some fancy japanese restaurant with pretty candle mood lighting.

Jemma heard the sliding door that went from their beach house directly onto the peachy-pale, always warm sand open. She would’ve turned her head to watch Fitz leave the doorway, but her the twirling and popping of the fire was captivating from her spot, curled up in the sand, leaning against a painted red beach chair. 

And her head was pleasantly heavy and wobbly, propped against the arm of the chair.

So, all in all, Jemma was pretty content to watch the flames.

She didn’t realise she’d spaced out again until something plopped down beside her in the sand, and she was pulled out of her reverie to startle and scramble so she wouldn’t tip over. 

Before Jemma could manage to orient herself enough to check out the bag beside her, Fitz appeared directly in her eyeline, a few inches in front of her. 

“Simmons? Are you okay?” He raised his eyebrows. “Should I be trusting you with a pointy stick over an open flame?”

“Shhh, Fitzy, I’m fine.” She flapped a hand at him, then wrapped her fingers around his arm, just below his elbow to pull herself up. She swayed in the sand a little and almost tipped back over, but finally managed to right herself and grinned up at him, toothily.

“Oh for the love of,” He crouched down in front her briefly, head level with her hips, just long enough to wrap his arms around her bare calves - nothing too scandalous, she out of the navy dress she wore to dinner back into something more comfortable, jean shorts and a bikini top, with one of Fitz’s shirts open over it to protect her midriff from the chill off the ocean.

Jemma’s musings of how nice and warm Fitz’s arms felt against her legs when she was abruptly jerked out of her mind when she was suddenly being turned upside down. She let out a startled, mildly indignant squawk as Fitz draped her body over his shoulder. “Excuse me, Leopold, but what exactly do you think do you think you’re doing?”

Her words were a little slurred, not helped by the fact that her face was pressed against the back of Fitz’s maroon hoodie, muffling her words. The hoodie was  _ very _ warm too, she realised as her deft little fingers curled into the fabric. She hadn’t realised quite how cold it’d gotten once the sun began to set.

“If I let you walk , you’d manage to faceplant yourself into the bloody fire, and then were would we be?” Fitz paused briefly by one of chair and bent forward to slide Jemma off of his back, positioning her so that she was facing him, leaving an arm firmly gripped around her waist to keep her steady. He leaned forward, and her gaze followed as he shifted his hand to the small of her back, and came back up with what he’d tossed towards Jemma before - a bag of… marshmallows?

He dropped his hand from, well, _distinctly lower_ _than_ the small of her back, _getting a little bold there Fitz,_ Jemma’s brain whispered to the sunset air, instead reaching for Jemma’s hand to lace their fingers together and tug her gently towards a chair.

Fitz moved the beige blanket that they’d brought out last night to curl up together under and watch the night sky change colours, from the seat of one of the chairs to the arm, and settled down into it, crossing his legs -  _ criss-cross applesauce _ , Jemma’s brain added a quick flash from her preschool days -  in front of himself, and dropped the bag of marshmallows to the sand.

He squeezed her hand again, and pulled her forwards. Jemma came to him easily enough, only lurching right once, and even then it was in the opposite direction of the fire. An improvement, she supposed.

She made it to the chair safely, and she curled up in what was left of the space. Jemma noted that she and Fitz were more or less squished together from shoulder to hip, fingers intertwined, and her knee overlapping on top of his. But she didn’t mind, and from the way she felt the tension leak out the set of his shoulders. Even on the secluded island, there were still things to make Fitz’s anxieties key up.  _ Like the threat of me getting third degree burns,  _ Jemma thought sheepishly.

The leftover traces of alcohol in Jemma’s system made her even more pleasantly aware than usual of Fitz’s arm brushing against her ribs, over his shirt, as he leaned across her to reach for the blanket he’d moved before.

“C’mere.” He lifted the arm that wasn’t tucking the fuzzy blanket around their hips, and Jemma tipped over into his side without giving it another thought.  _ Good to know drunk-Jemma and sober-Jemma had the same priorities _ , her brain pointed out helpfully.

“Oh, no, wait, hang on,” Fitz hesitated, leaning Jemma back up again, dropping the arm around her to brace himself on the edge of the chair, and once again bending across their seat, except this time he reached towards the other side, away from her. He rose back up with flecks of sand in his curls - Jemma was absolutely gleeful when she noticed the havoc that the humidity of the island had wreaked on his hair, and the marshmallows and a pair of sticks in hand. 

Fitz propped the branches against the front of the chair, and lifted his arm, again, so that Jemma could finally get comfortable. They settled in the end with Jemma’s cheek leaning against the hollow under Fitz’s collarbones and her hand curved around the side of his ribs, his arm draped over her shoulders. 

“Okay, so, marshmallows.” Fitz opened the bag with his spare hands and his teeth, and if Jemma had her wits about her, she may have taken issue with this, but her inebriated mind focuses on his lips and jawline instead.  _ Once again, drunk-Jemma, truly excellent priorities you have there,  _ she congratulated herself.

They rested there for a while, Fitz’s chin dropped against the crown of her head, both of them just soaking in the others presence. Jemma’s breathing was beginning to even out and slow down, her eyelids fluttering lightly against her cheekbones, the side of Fitz’s shoulder; she was being lulled to sleep by the repetitive, soothing motion of Fitz rubbing her arm.

“Hey, hey, Simmons,” Fitz nudged her with her knee, hauling her back from where she’d been cuddling happily and sleepily into his side. “Just stay awake for, like, fifteen more minutes, okay Jem?” 

“Kay,” Jemma hummed, blinking hard a few times. “Fifteen minutes.”

“So,” Fitz handed her one of their sticks, sharpened into a semi-point, and balances the other across his lap. “We’re going to roast marshmallows? Right?”

Jemma perked up at the concept of the gooey, warm treat. The sleepy warmth and drowsiness in her bones were beginning to change into warmth from the fire rolling over them and light excitement. “Right!”

He rested his slightly stubbly chin against her head for a brief second while he reaches for a marshmallow to place on Jemma’s stick, and she felt it scritch pleasantly over her frizzy hair.

Fitz squished the marshmallow onto her stick, then awkwardly, partly because he could only use one hand and partly because he’s Fitz, managed to get his marshmallow onto his own stick as well.

Jemma felt his gaze slide sideways to the side of her face, and, because her skin was still humming from something sweet at dinner - both kisses and drinks - and they were on a island with no intruding eyes or overbearing accomplices, she let her face open up into a wide, shining grin as she kept her eyes on the fire, feeling the creases at her eyes and corners of her mouth start to form. Jemma was so,  _ so  _ happy.

Who could blame her? Good food, beautiful views and her beautiful boy.

Fitz shifted his roasting stick to his left, in order to thread his fingers through her hair, and pull her close to press a warm kiss to the side of her head.

“I’m still not sure if I should be trusting with all this while you’re, well, not sober?” He pulled back to raise an eyebrow at her, and Jemma shrugged. The giddy, drunk buzz had been fading from her system when Fitz first came out on the porch, now it was closer to being a ghost by now.

Jemma hummed. “I think I’m good by now.” She tilted her head up to look at Fitz. “Ready?”

“Let’s do this, before you fall asleep again.” He chuckled, and pulled away for real.

Jemma’s marshmallow had been in the fire for barely ten seconds before it was a charred black mess, with short orange and blue flames leaping off of it, bits falling back to the coals. She let out a startled screechy noise, flailing awkwardly for a second before dropping the offending branch in the fire pit.

“...You okay there, Simmons?” Fitz was fighting not to let his lips twitch up at the corners, and frankly, failing miserably, as he watched her glaring at the marshmallow melting into slush in the coals of the fire, looking betrayed.

“Shut up, Fitz.”

He snorted as he lifted his stick out of the flames, the outside a pleasant golden brown, with a few crumbly spots. A perfect specimen.

Damn him.

“Pass me another one?” Jemma held out her hand expectantly.

After getting her second marshmallow skewered, she carefully, slowly lowered it down towards the tops of the flames and glared at it. Once nothing happened to it, she relaxed back against the chair, turning her head to watch the sunset.

She looked away for  _ four bloody seconds,  _ until she heard a reluctant “Uh, Jem…”

“Hmm, oh, no, bloody-” She jerked the branch away from the fire, inadvertently dropping the stick with a muted clatter as she realised that, once again, it was more than burnt. 

This time, when she turned to face Fitz, he was grinning wide, not even attempting to hide it, though he did have his lips pressed firmly together, muffling his laughter at her insignificant failings, but he couldn’t try to hide the blatant, raucous shaking of his entire upper body, from the silent amusement written across his visage.

“Another one.” She demanded again.

The edges of the hole where she’d jabbed the branch into the marshmallow had a few char specks around them, from the blackened tip of the stick.

But Jemma was going to get it.

Except, this time, as soon as she moved the marshmallow into the flames, it fell off her branch. 

She heaved out a frustrated sigh, folding her arms over her chest as she stared blankly at the imploding marshmallow. After another second, she huffed greatly and flung herself against the back of the chair, not bothering to hide the childish pout on her face.

“Holy shit, Simmons,  I do believe we’ve finally found something I’m better at than you!” Fitz snickered as he pulled his second - utterly perfect - marshmallow off of it’s stick. 

“Oh, whatever Fitz.” Jemma flicked his elbow. 

“Relax, Simmons, I won’t tell anyone.” He looked far too smug, in her opinion. “No, don’t pout. Here, you can have mine.” Fitz was still snickering at her as he took his golden brown, crispy marshmallow off his stick, and waved it her direction.

Jemma debated swatting it into the fire like the rational, mature adult she was.

She swallowed her pride, and plucked the marshmallow gently from Fitz’s fingers, and keeping her expression blank, ate it without looking at Fitz once.

Sensible as always.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really not quite happy with the end of this, but I was stuck with where to go from there. Also, I'm a fetus that's never had a drink before in her life, so humor me with drunk Jemma please. <3


End file.
